


Things Are Turning a Deeper Shade of Blue

by t0bemadeofglass



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Movie Spoilers, PWP, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha has exhausted all of her covers on Earth, and just when she thinks that her situation can't get any worse a certain Asgardian is only too keen to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Are Turning a Deeper Shade of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! Thanks to the anon who prompted me to write this--it was a great deal of fun, not gonna lie. I always love writing Nat and Thor together, they're just so damn cute. Hope you enjoy this!

The first bullet had been little more than a warning shot, lodging itself into her upper right arm, and though she’d been ambidextrous since age nine, Nat was pretty sure she couldn’t make the shot she’d need to, even if she had the ammunition to do it. Not when she was pretty damn certain the next shot, when it came, wouldn’t be so lucky as to hit somewhere she could do without.  Her arm twinged, and she did all she could to compartmentalize the pain, breathing deeply through her nose as she closed her eyes for half a second, and opened them again to try and get a better grip on the world.  The noon Oregon sun beat hard on her back, sweat already dripping off of her as she huddled behind what’d once been a wall of some sort, now crumbling and just barely tall enough for her to hide behind some twenty feet from where her attackers were.  She wasn’t build for this, but neither were they, and she was willing to bet that she’d been out of Russia for longer than they had, away from the comforting bone-chilling winds, overcast, expansive skies carved into by the forest or juxtaposing city skylines of their consumer-driven motherland.  

At least here, in the middle of fucking nowhere Oregon she’d hoped she might have a chance to escape them.  Fate, it seemed, had something else in mind.  

The second bullet dug its way deep into the wall, half an inch above Natasha’s head, dust flaking her hair before she jumped and scrambled to the edge of the wall.  Well, as far as she could make it without her shadow giving her away.  She only had a minute, maybe, before they would begin to advance on her again, and her mouth ran dry.  Not acceptable.   _‘Think, damn you.’_

They’d expect her Soviet tricks, expect her to run, but without any ammo her chances of making a stand and going for it weren’t hopeful.  She was well and truly fucked, and caught sight of the shadows cast to the side beginning to move closer.  They spoke smatterings of some Slavic language that not even Natasha knew, damn her, if only to throw her off, and she scooted to the opposite side of the slab.  They’d gun her down if she tried to make a run for the school building just in front of her, and she doubted very much that the three men, Red Room trained, with submachine guns, were sent by Ivan to just send a message then sue for peace in the end.  

_‘Fuck.’_

Not for the first time did she hate her arrogance at thinking she could get away with spilling her identities and alibies onto the Internet without it having drastic, life altering (ending, even) possibilities.  Rodgers’ damned do-gooder sense had finally begun to rub off on her.  Asshole.  Where was he when she needed back-up, as far up shit’s creek as possible?  Her left hand closed on the can of pepper spray as she heard the feet of the other men shuffling closer, their steps slow and cautious, fully expecting her to attack as soon as she was able.  They didn’t know she was out of ammo, she’d done everything she had to keep up the idea that she was still fully loaded.  It was the only reason she was alive for so long, but it wouldn’t last much longer.  

Her fingers tightened, the cool metal of the can quickly giving way to the heat of her fingers.  If she made it out of this, thanks to this little can, she’d owe Wade big time, even if it had only been a gag gift.  Though if the wind changed on her she’d be as screwed as the other men.  Dammit, it would have to suffice.  Apart from an empty pair of guns shoved into her holsters (they’d make good projectiles, she supposed, if she could get her aim right), and one single sting, it was all she had.  As her right arm flared up with pain she longed for her Bites around her wrists, or the knives currently embedded in the spines of three of the once oncoming ops.  Now?

Now she was screwed.  

She held her breath as she heard the men move faster, and if she read the tone correctly in one of their voices they were finally coming to the conclusion that she was out of ammo.  A laugh went up amongst them that chilled her spine, and she set down the can to grab one of her guns.  All she had to do was make the first shot, but she had to get the timing right.  Just right.  

One more set of steps.  Two.  They were growing bolder, now, damn them.  She held her breath as they moved closer, trying to make up her mind as to what it was she could do.  Three men.  Two guns, one sting, and one damn can.  She could do this.  

The first man attacked to the right of her, the opposite direction that she was expecting.  The gun left her left hand and clocked him in the throat.  Shit, she’d meant to hit him in the face, but her leg kicked out to sweep his legs out from under him.  His head hit the slab, blood splattering on the concrete as he fell to the wayside.  

One down.

The next bullet found her right hand, going clean through it.  She screamed and barely bit off the end of it as she grasped her last sting and threw it, hitting the man with the gun on the forehead.  He fell, and she used her good arm to propel herself over the side, grabbing the fallen gun and pointing it at the third attacker, whose bullet went through her left thigh just as she aimed with her left arm and fired half a dozen shots into his face.  

The pain kicked in just as the adrenaline stopped hitting her brain, and she bit her tongue as she tried to shift her left leg.  She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but she had to.  They wouldn’t be alone, they never were, and if she didn’t get out of there--if she didn’t get on her feet and try to move--.  She’d lost all feeling in her right arm, and tried to prop herself up on her left arm, but her left leg wouldn’t support her.  Fuck!

“No, no, no no no no!”  She screamed and beat her hand on the ground, trying to rise despite the pain.  Any other time she might’ve seen it as a scratch, but without a comm or any way to call a response team to come get her and get her patched up?  Her body would take too long to heal on its own, and by that time the other agents would be there to take her in, or end her, depending on how generous they felt.  The pain and humiliation of the situation brought tears to her eyes and though she grit her teeth and struggled to get up onto her right leg, to support herself as best she could.  She fell not a half minute later, her back hitting the hard ground and her head bouncing off of it like a damn ball.  Her vision went blurry as the air was knocked out of her lungs.

The rainbow bridge that engulfed her next, she was certain, was a hallucination, brought on by blood loss and hitting her head, and dammit what the hell was that whooshing noise?  The world went black, though colors flashed and danced behind her eyelids.  

 

She woke on a flat, surprisingly comfortable surface, blinking slowly as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting of the room.  Golden symbols and markings swirled above her, and with a choked gasp she sat up.  She had not actually died, had she?  The pain that shot through her arm at the movement was a sharp reminder that no, she was still in fact very much alive, and a hand on her shoulder gently pushing her down belonged to an older woman who asked her to relax.  

“You need to heal, my lady,” she murmured.  Nat’s good hand reached out and grabbed the woman’s, taking in how strong she was despite looking frail, smiling down at Natasha as though she felt bad for her.  

“‘M not dead,” Natasha said, though the words sounded more like a question, her mouth dry and lips cracked.  

The woman’s smile softened further.  

“No, you have not ascended to Valhalla yet my lady,” she promised, and squeezed Natasha’s hand back before pressing a heavy goblet into it and assisting Natasha in sipping at it.  The wine was warm and felt wonderful on Natasha’s sore throat and mouth, but she passed out once more before she could finish putting two and two together about where she was.  

 

A soft breeze woke Natasha up next, and she rubbed her face to try and ease the itch that’d been bothering her since she started edging into consciousness, groaning as she yawned and felt herself coming to.  The bed she’d been placed on was enormous, four postered, with white and gold linen sheets softer than anything she’d ever felt in her whole life.  For a moment she recalled her question to the doctor--or whatever--that’d been standing over her before, thought maybe she’d been wrong or Nat had died while she’d been healing.  Her right hand flew up to her heart, felt it still beating beneath her hand, and looked down at her hand with a flash of disbelief.  There wasn’t even a flutter of pain, not a scar in sight from where the bullet had gone through her hand.  

“I’m dead.  I have to be,” she muttered, rubbing her face again and shoving her hair out of her face as she peeled the gown she’d been dressed in down over her shoulder.  No wound there, either, nor was there one on her left leg.  

A quiet laugh from the now opening doors in front of her bed had her head snapping to attention, Thor’s smile good natured as he closed the door behind him.  Wait.  “You’re not dead, I can assure you that Eir and the healers have done everything to prevent that,” he said, eyes bright as he moved closer to her.  He looked good, though the last time she’d seen him had been after New York, so she wasn’t quite sure if that was a decent or not memory of him.  His hair was longer, and though there were newly etched lines of concern and worry on his brow he seemed far more at ease than when he was escorting his baby not-brother back home.  

Which only meant--.

“You had me sent up here?  How did you even know where I was?”  She asked, sitting up further so that she could lean back on the headboard.  

“I have Heimdall keeping an eye on each of my friends,” he confessed, and for a moment he looked embarrassed, one of his enormous hands coming to rub the back of his neck.  She’d seen him rip a Chitauri clean in two with those hands, watched him whip Mjolnir with that hand and catch it though it moved fast as one of Clint’s arrows or her bullets, and now they seemed harmless as all get out.

“Oh.  Well, thanks, I suppose.  I, ah, don’t think I would’ve made it if not for him.”  She admitted, and started to rise.  The gown she’d been dressed in was thick enough to keep her warm, and she was grateful for it, but it made her feel like she was in a hospital.  Those never ended well, not for her.  “Where are my clothes?”  

“Oh, there are clean ones provided for you.  Apologies.”  She’d never seen Thor look so flustered, and it was strangely endearing.  She couldn’t help it as a corner of her lips twisted in a smile as he moved around the room to grab her a dress that’d been hanging up just across the room, and offered it to her.  She took it, pleased to find it was made of the same soft quality of fabric as the sheets she’d just woken up in.  Amazing what they had available, she supposed.  

“Thanks so much.  Did you happen to recover anything else of mine?”  She asked, setting the dress down lightly on the bed in time to catch Thor shaking his head.  

“No, I’m afraid nothing else could be salvaged.”

Well, it was a long shot anyway.  If he could beam her up from the middle of nowhere then maybe he could at least bring her back some place where she’d be some allusion of safe.  No matter how much of a long shot that would be.  She pushed those thoughts out of her head, though.  There was no chance in hell she would let herself become a burden to Thor and his hospitality.  She’d figure things out in time.  

He seemed to recognize that something was different, and his hand reached out to take her shoulder, spreading warmth wherever he touched.  

“Is everything alright?”  His voice was soft, blue eyes imploring as he held her gaze with his own, the beginnings of concern puckering his brow.  

“Not really,” she admitted, her volume matching his as she broke the eye contact.  It was too personal, too intimate for her at that moment.  “SHIELD, well, it’s kind of not there anymore.  Hydra, one of the organizations that Rogers was fighting when he first became Captain America, infiltrated the inner workings and upper levels of SHIELD, so I, ah, helped Rogers destroy it.  Blew all my covers in the process,” she said, biting her cheek.  She was getting too close, telling him too much.  He didn’t need to hear it all, because the last thing she wanted was Thor feeling as though she needed some sort of asylum and guilting him into giving it to her.  He likely had more than enough on his plate as it was--.  

“Is there any place safe for you on Midgard?”  He asked.  “Or the others?”  

“From what I’ve heard they’re all doing alright.  At least.  Heimdall hasn’t brought them up?”  She asked, skirting around the first question.  It wasn’t something she really wanted to think about, not at that moment.  Thor shook his head, and his expression told him that he understood why she’d avoided his first question.  Dammit.  

“Well, there is a bath through that door if you wish to use it, and there will be servants sent up to assist you,” he said, and his hand found hers.  Squeezed it.  Her heart tightened with the motion.  “At least stay for a meal before you return to Midgard.”  

 

She ended up staying for several.  Thor never pushed her to leave, nor did he bring up that she was willing to stay there as long a she wanted, though the sentiment was clear by the way he’d already had a room made ready for her, took her for tours around the palace, and even went as far as to bring her to Heimdall so she could ask the gatekeeper about the other Avengers.  She couldn’t have been any more grateful for it, his hospitality more than she could’ve asked for as she struggled to get herself back on her feet.  She saw very little of Odin, Thor explaining that his father had left a great deal of the running of Asgard to Thor when he returned home in order to better acclimate him to the duties and realities of ruling, which afforded Natasha more than enough time alone with her thoughts, trying to pull herself together.  

It wasn’t easy, and more often than not the concept of trying to rebuild, to start from the very bottom and work her way up to where she had been, left her shaking with her arms wrapped around her legs and head buried in her lap, biting on her tongue to keep from shouting that she couldn’t do this, that it wasn’t possible.  She was grateful for the solitude then, Thor more often than not too busy with running the kingdom to come and see her until after midway through the day.  

Which was why when the knock came on her door half an hour or so after she’d missed lunch, she jumped at the sudden intrusion.  “Just a second!”  She called, trying to infuse her shaking voice with some semblance of strength as she rubbed her clammy hands on the skirts of the dress she’d been given, this one deep blue and made of silk, though it was of finer quality than anything else she’d worn.  She almost felt bad for being so clammy and sweaty while wearing it, but she was too busy trying to liven herself up, knowing all too well that these sessions with herself left her pale and nearly dead looking.  

“Is everything alright?”  Thor asked.  He’d noticed the waver in her voice if the concern in his own was any sign, and she swore quietly under her breath.  The last thing he needed was to worry more about her; she wouldn’t put that burden on him.  

“Fine--just give me a moment.”  She gritted, pinching her cheeks and slipping into a smile that she hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell was forced.  

It only took him a few seconds of looking at her once she’d opened the door for the usual worry to mire his eyes.  She was getting worse, and the thought that she was regressing, she was _failing_ at keeping herself and her problems hidden away made her heart stutter.  She’d never failed at a damn thing in her life.  Even when she’d been outnumbered she at least dispatched the bastards who’d tried to take her out.  

She tried shutting the door, thinking it would be better for the both of them if they could forget that he noticed anything off about her, but he wasn’t having any of it, wedging his foot in between the door and the wall.  

“Natasha, talk to me.  You do not have to be afraid of judgement,” he promised, voice soft.  Caring.  Damn him.  She wanted to tell him, or at least some small, childish part of her did.  Wanted him to tell her that everything was going to be alright, that they’d figure it out somehow, even if he had no idea what it was she needed.  It would just be nice to hear, for once, that someone had faith that it would all turn out well, no matter how misguided they were.  And if there was anyone that was misguided in his convictions about the good in people it was certainly Thor.  

“I really don’t have anything to talk about.”  A lie, one he could see through without issue.  

He pushed gently against the door, and she gave in.  If it came down to strength he’d beat her at any given day, but she backed up quickly from the door as he pushed it open.  

She hated herself for figuring out the easiest way to bring him down to his knees, if she needed to, and how to get from the room as quickly and harmlessly as possible once he was out.  The door clicked shut once he’d entered entirely, and she swallowed her misappropriated fear.  This was Thor, she reminded herself.  Her teammate, an Avenger, the one who’d asked Heimdall to save her when the world had seen fit that she was supposed to die.  He wouldn’t hurt her.  

“You’re hurting inside, Natasha.  You don’t have to be,” he murmured, standing his ground though she could see him fighting to move closer, to put his hands on her.  She must’ve still been trembling, damn her.  “You bear so much weight upon your shoulders, Natasha.  What happened--it’s not your fault.  None of it is.”

“How can you know that?”  She demanded, her voice more harsh than she’d meant it to be, but really what the hell did he know?  She should’ve seen the signs, should’ve done something more about it.  Her teammates had had to go into hiding because of her, because she hadn’t been able to find a different solution to the problem.  She’d messed up.  She didn’t handle failure well.  Failure meant death, not just for those around her but for her as well, and she had so much red to try and blot out.  So much.  

She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to hold herself together as the trembling got worse.  

“Because you are one of the most intelligent people I have had the pleasure of meeting, and you have a habit of taking on more responsibility than is your own.  From what you told me about this Project Insight, you helped to bring it down.  You saved so many people, Natasha.”  His smile softened his features, unfettered by her offending response before.  “Yet you cannot see your own strength, and your own worth.  Without you SHIELD might be standing, yes, but what incarnation of it?  The one riddled with Hydra?  You made an enormous sacrifice and--.”

His words were cut off as Natasha launched herself at him, her lips pressed hard against his, standing on her tip toes in order to reach him and arms wrapped around his neck.  Her chest ached in a way it hadn’t in years.  Decades, even.  Thor hardly missed a beat as he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against his firm body as he used his other free hand to cup the side of her face, cradling her in his enormous palm as he tried to show him just how much she meant to him, and she tried to return the favor.  

“Natasha--I mean it--.”  He gasped when she pulled away to suck in a quick breath, his eyes glazed and lips swollen from where she’d sucked and nipped at the bottom one.  She nodded, lowering herself to her flat feet as she smiled up at him, a real smile this time without holding anything back.  His own brightened significantly.  

“I know.  Thank you, so much.  I just--thanks.”  It seemed it was her turn to be tongue tied, and Thor took advantage of her embarrassment to lean down and capture her lips in a kiss of his own.  Where the first had been imbibed with Natasha’s need to show him just how sweet he was, how much his words meant to her, this one was far slower.  Sweeter.  He took his time exploring her mouth, groaning when she opened up for him and dragged her tongue over his bottom lip.  He tasted like the honeyed mead he took with every meal, and she reached one hand up to tangle her fingers in his hair, holding him in place, cementing herself in the reality of the moment.  That this was, indeed, actually happening to her.  

Her fingers moved to tug at his navy tunic, nails scratching at miles of well defined muscle, and he shuddered and gasped into her mouth beneath her touch.  She could feel him already hard against her gut and moaned as she rolled her hips against his.  He reached for the laces of her dress, fumbling with them in his haste to try and get them off as soon as he could.  

“Rip it,” she moaned when his lips left hers to nibble at her ear, breath hot and beard a pleasant scratch against her soft skin.  He groaned as the fabric tore beneath his tight grip.  It was too bad, but she’d been provided with thousands more like it.  She imagined they could spare at least one.  Between the two of them they managed to wriggle him out of his clothing as well, his hands palming her breasts, tweaking the nipples before he sucked on them in turn as her fingers struggled to undo all the clasps of his trousers, shoving them down his legs once they were finally done.  She groaned his name as his teeth sank into the sensitive underside of her left breast, the thumb of his right hand deftly rubbing the hardened nipple of her other breast so that the pain and pleasure sent shocks through her whole body.  She wouldn’t have been amazed, at that point, if he actually was using electricity of sometime it felt so good.  Right, even.  

They managed to carefully shuffle their way backwards until she pressed against the mattress, and he crawled atop of her, grinning as he kissed her hips and nipped at the soft, near ticklish skin there.  “I’m going to show you just how much you deserve, just how good you are, Natasha,” Thor rumbled, the combination of his soft lips and scratchy beard driving Natasha insane as he trailed kisses downwards.  One of his fingers already slipped into her, finding her slick and more than ready, eliciting a moan of surprise from her full lips before his mouth descended on her slit.  

“Wh-what’re you d-doing?” She gasped, eyes wide as her back arched.  No one had ever done this for her before.  No one had ever taken the time--had cared enough to--.  

Tears hit her eyes hard enough to make her lose what little breath hadn’t been ripped from her body as Thor pressed a second finger into her, scissoring her open, while he sucked on her clit.  It was too much, nearly painful with just how pleasurable it was, and soon enough she was screaming as he opened her up further, lapping at the come once he pulled his slicked fingers out of her sex.  She couldn’t catch her breath, gasping down at him as he took his fingers into his mouth and sucked, cleaning them off with a shit-eating grin.  

“Have you never had someone do that to you before?”  He asked, sounding surprised.  

“No,” she admitted with a gasp.  “Not usually my pleasure anyone cares about.”

“Then your past lovers are pathetic excuses for men,” he said, voice a growl she didn’t care to argue with.  She was already so boneless it would be amazing if she didn’t slide into a puddle onto the floor.  He grasped her gently around the hips, hiking her legs up and around his waist, as he positioned his cock at her entrance.  Oh, right.  Her heart, if possible, sped up ever so slightly, and his eyes met hers with a small smile.  

“You are certain?”

“Thor just do it, please,” she begged.  He didn’t need further encouragement, sinking into her in one stroke, filling her until she was certain she’d never find where he stopped and she began.  He gave her a moment to adjust, for which she was grateful.  She’d had her fair share of well endowed men, even more who thought they were something to write home about, but Thor?  Ever shift of his body made her whimper, his cock filling her in ways she wasn’t entirely sure she’d thought possible.  

She tapped him on the back and leaned up to kiss him to tell him that she was ready for him to move again, and as he began to pull out, then thrust back in, she rocked her hips along with the motions, angling her hips so that he hit her g-spot every time, throat ragged from how much she was moaning.  Her heels dug into his back and he took that as his cue to speed up, even as her nails tore at the skin on his back and she was certain she was going to lose her voice any minute.  

“You are so wonderful, so _good_ Natasha.  So very worthy of everything,” Thor promised, voice hoarse with his own need as he picked up speed once again, pistoning into her with near everything he had.  The force of it choked the breath from Natasha’s lungs so all she could do was nod and whisper his name over, and over again.  He continued with the sweet talk until she was shivering and coming beneath him, body writhing as he kissed her neck and collarbone, lips and jaw, before soon joining her.  His arms wrapped around her as he finished with a deep, body-shaking groan, his eyes screwed up in pleasure, Natasha molding against his body once more.  After his hips stopped twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he released her gently back down onto the bed, smoothing over her hair and kissing her temple before shifting to pull out and get up.  She caught him around his wrist, tugged him back down to kiss him.  

“Can you stay with me?  Just for a little while,” she murmured.  “Just . . . just till I figure it out.”  

His face softened.  “Take however long you need,” he promised as he eased himself down beside her, drawing the covers around them as he slotted himself behind her, his chin resting on the top of her head, body curling around hers.  She listened to his heartbeat slow until it became regular again and smiled in spite of herself, wriggling a little closer to him, feeling better than she had in decades.  Whoever she decided she was going to become was going to have some very strong ties to Asgard.  

 

 

 


End file.
